


l  o  v  e [and giving in]

by Emeka



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dubious Consent, King Alistair, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Misogyny, Possessive Behavior, alistair is a Straight(tm), is there a tag for that, reluctant same-sex interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: If someone gives everything for you, it's only natural you give a little in return.





	l  o  v  e [and giving in]

His lips mouth the words 'I love you', not because he does, but because Alistair needs to think he does. Not out loud, not so obvious, but quietly, almost hidden away. Festering between the both of them in Alistair's mind with pity and a due sense of gratitude.

It's those feelings that has gotten them in this bed together. That has Alistair's lips reluctantly pressed against his, and his fingers trembling on his waist.

He does not spread his legs (Amell, in a manner of speaking, does from the top) but it maintains their dynamic. The one Amell has tried so hard to cultivate since they first met. Self-sacrifice, protection. Love.

Some show their weakness bright and clear. Others hide it behind a veneer, and for Alistair, that veneer is HUMOR and DOCILITY. He is a man that smiles and jokes but wants the stability of being made to obey, because of his weakness. The inability to bear the weight of responsibility. Eamon, the Templars, Duncan; that's all any of it came down to. 

If Amell had any doubts after their initial meeting, they vanished as his senior Warden stepped aside to give him the lead. Nothing but weakness could make a man do such a thing. Even with the death of his half-brother, he would have been content to allow another the throne.

But Amell knew better, and more and more, Alistair trusted him to know better too. The night he slit a child's throat and had him concede even to that, he knew he had him exactly where he wanted him. He knew he could push him into taking the throne. Because he knew best.

Because he said all the good kind words he had to. Because he always let him lean on him when no one else could. When Alistair's own sister rejected him. And as Amell comforted, he thought.

A mage could never rule in Ferelden. A bastard could, though. And through him, one could do just as well.

Others knew that. Schemers trying to encroach on his territory. Send Eamon off, I'll be your chancellor, lock away the traitor's daughter, I'll be your support.

"Everything I do, is for you." Everything turned out as he wanted. People whispered, of course, and he listened carefully but took little of it seriously. And what he did, he handled.

A few years passed before he felt threatened by anything. He went to Vigil's Keep and back. The trust Alistair held in him deepened all the time as Amell supported him in reaching a comfortable level of competency.

Whispers became spoken concerns. The king needed a wife and heir.

Of course Amell recognized the necessity of it. Had in fact been remiss to leave it be so long. He should have been looking for some equally soft-willed woman to play her part. But to be honest, he hadn't wanted to for as long as possible.

It would have meant sharing his toy.

Even in this he saw a chance, one not really with practical application. Alistair was virgin, and straight as far as he knew--there was no small chance of the situation exploding, and with no real gain to be had. He already had him eating out of his palm.

But the thought of losing ground to some empty-headed _whore_ with no reason to be queen except her cunt made him seethe.

Amell invited Alistair to his room shortly after his return for drinks. Between friends, he said, signifying the event as Warden to Warden, rather than king to subject. Alistair made some insipid quip about finding the time, but a man would have to be blind to miss the way he relaxed, even down to the lines around his eyes.

They moved all the furniture in his suite's sitting room up against the walls and laid down bedrolls. Bottles of spiced rum sat close at hand with a basket of sausage and cheeses. As dark came on he felt almost like they were again camping down in some nook, talking quietly to not be overheard-- the way Alistair comforted him for once when the dreams started. Had he actually needed it? Yes, he thinks he might have.

It's too bad he couldn't actually set a campfire in here. But he lay his palm upward between them and being a mage has its uses, after all. A still fire formed, throwing shadows and shades all over the room. Alistair did not startle, or say a single word. Just looked at him with a soppy expression of drunk understanding, like he read his mind and _understood_.

The idea that Alistair would understand anything going on in _his_ mind was such a perturbing one he almost extinguished the flame. But... the light made his hazel eyes gold.

Amell leaned in and kissed him.

It felt stupid, too soon. The light sputtered and went out to make it easier for the both of them. Too soon, but also finally. Everything thrilled him, Alistair's scruff rubbing his mouth as he tried to turn his head, and the pressure of his hand on his shoulder, not pushing, just trying to keep back.

"Always--I've always--" he whispered and did not finish, will never finish, because a part of him is afraid that if he actually says the words, they will feel true. Alistair's mouth gradually softens to him, though his fist still clings to his nightshirt.

Amell was half a virgin himself--sex is just too vulnerable--but there was nothing awkward in exploring the body of his comrade, his king. He found it responsive to him. Every tremor, every stifled throat-sound, made just for him.

He went lower, lower, kissing a line from his neck to his waist, feeling Alistair's hand loosen along the way. It's thumb brushed against his cheek, then temple, before the fingers buried themselves in his hair.

Alistair said his name, almost timidly. Like a question, seeking an answer he didn't dare to ask. Then, almost inaudibly, do you?

Do you love me?

Amell bowed his head in a pretense of shyness but his hands kept busy, and soon enough, his mouth. As expected of a virgin, his efforts were rewarded in a matter of minutes. Pleasure is pleasure, regardless the sex of the person giving it. He wondered, wonders still, what accepting it means for Alistair... whether he can live with it, or whether he hates himself afterward. They don't talk about what they do in bed, and he is always eager to go back to playing the fool.

They neatened themselves up in silence. Alistair hugged him with rough briefness before they slowly warmed up into being just friends again. It felt like an apology. Typical, to still be concerned with his feelings.

But that's what Amell has been depending on all this time. It's nice, even, that he's still so predictable.

A week later he made another invitation. Alistair visibly thought before he answered, not quite meeting his eyes, but agreed in the end. Maybe he hoped things would stay normal, but this time when Amell kissed him, he kissed back, and when their bodies joined for the first time, he clutched his hips and thrust back into him.

Being ejaculated in, having Alistair's virginity, was as much an emotional climax as a physical one. Even if Alistair married, his first time would always be with him. They'd keep this connection forever.

He mouthed words against his skin as they lay together. Salt stung his lips. "I've always... always..."

Alistair hugged him tightly to his chest, cheek pressing against the side of his head. His scruff prickled his scalp, but his arms felt good criss-crossed on his back. Amell thought he felt him saying something back into his hair, but... didn't really matter. They both have what they need.

So he'll pick out some pretty trophy for Alistair (and Alistair will let him, because he knows best), and doubts he'll feel bad even on their wedding night. His toy has his claim laid on it.


End file.
